


hell is just a place on earth

by cerealmilk



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Implied/Referenced Character Death, robin is already signing max's adoption papers, trauma snuggles for trauma struggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21869116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerealmilk/pseuds/cerealmilk
Summary: Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Billy’s blood was still warm and wet between her fingers, glistening red and blue in the light of the fire trucks and police cars, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it.
Relationships: Robin Buckley & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Will Byers & Eleven | Jane & Maxine "Max" Mayfield
Comments: 3
Kudos: 74





	hell is just a place on earth

**Author's Note:**

> ive literally had this in my drafts since i watched the last episode of season 3 but then school swept me up and. now. during finals week. i have cranked out an ending its MESSY and SHORT im sorry but i hated having to look at it in my wips folder

Her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Billy’s blood was still warm and wet between her fingers, glistening red and blue in the light of the fire trucks and police cars, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from it.

He was dead now, his body trapped in there with the Mind Flayer. He’d died protecting Eleven, protecting everyone, and he was gone. Him and his overworked hair and his cigarette mouth.

One of the firefighters had draped a blanket over her shoulders some time ago, and it hung loosely around her. Another, different one had given her an ice pack and told her to press it against her cheek. The ice pack laid forgotten, somewhere, and her cheek smarted with pain.

Billy was dead. Billy was  _ dead _ . Did her parents know? Had anyone told them? Mom would probably cry. Neil was going to be very angry with her for staying out so late.

The cushion next to her dipped and she startled. It was the new girl— Robin.

“Hey there, kid,” Robin said. “Max, right?”

Max nodded, returning her gaze to the asphalt of the Starcourt parking lot. Robin shifted a bit, hefting her own blanket around her shoulders as she settled into her seat. The lights continued to flash, the howl of an ambulance siren piercing the night and fading away.

When Robin spoke again, her voice was soft and faraway.

“When I was in the third grade, I knew this kid named Ben Spengler,” she started. Max turned to look at her, unsure of what this had to do with anything. “He was kind of an asshole, in that third grade bully sort of way. A squat little kid, missing his front teeth. He scared the crap out of me, and because I was scared of him, he found it all the more fun to push me around.”

“You should have pushed back,” Max said, voice hoarse. It was the first thing she’d said since— since Billy died. Robin laughed.

“Yeah, I probably should have, but he was a whole head taller than me and at least twice as wide! What was I supposed to do?”

Max huffed. “Go for between the legs, obviously. You don’t have to be tall to hit them where it hurts.”

Robin smiled at her, and then returned her gaze back out to the swarm of emergency vehicles before them. “Point is, Max, he always pushed me around. Called me names, scared me, the whole gig. Around April, though, I realized that he stopped coming to school. I asked my teacher where he’d gone.” Her smile faltered and then fell away. “Turned out that he’d died in a car crash. One of those big, nasty, freeway ones with seven cars all scrunched together.”

“Oh,” Max said, starting to understand where this was going.

“When I found out he was dead, I didn’t really know how to feel. Sure, I mean, he’d been an asshole, but he was so  _ young,  _ you know? Eight year old me didn’t know how to handle that. It was the first time I’d had a tangible experience with death.” Robin shifted a bit, and then looked at her. The look on her face was sad, but knowing. “You’re a bit older than third grade, I’ll give you that.”

Max swallowed hard and averted her gaze. A tremor ran through her body and her eyes burned with tears. She didn’t know what to say. That Billy was dead? Robin knew that. They’d all witnessed it firsthand. That he hadn’t deserved it? That he’d apologized at the end of everything, but she didn't know what for and it was tearing her apart?

An arm fell around her shoulders. Max jumped at the touch, and Robin winced in turn.

“Ah, sorry, I’m not really the best at the whole comforting thing,” the older girl said, voice hushed and apologetic. “Just— I’m here for you, if you need it. Everyone’s here for you.”

Across the clearing of cars, Steve was talking with Jonathan and Nancy, leaning in close like the three of them were sharing a secret. Mike and Dustin were huddled together, finally reunited without being under immediate fire. Lucas was crouching with his hands on Erica’s shoulders, who seemed to have finally burst into tears. Joyce and Will had their arms wrapped around Eleven, whose body shook with sobs. Hopper was nowhere to be seen. Max didn’t have to guess what happened to him if he hadn’t made it out of the facility.

And that was everyone, now, after everything. Everyone she had left.

She took one unsteady inhale, and then another, and on the third, her breath hitched, tears slipping down her cheeks to fall into her hands.

“He was only nineteen,” she croaked, and some invisible dam within her cracked at those words. The sobs came faster and hit harder, every one of them tasting like smoke and salt. Robin pulled her close, making quiet shushing sounds as Max fisted her bloodstained hands in the collar of her dirty sailor outfit.

It took a while to finally choke down the tears, Max pulling herself away and wiping her cheeks on the corner of her blanket. Some of the emergency vehicles were gone from where they’d been before. A lot of people were missing, too.

Lucas and Erica were nowhere to be seen— their mom had probably come to pick them up. Dustin, Jonathan, and Steve had disappeared, the latter probably going to a hospital for his cracked ribs. Mike had moved over to Nancy, and after a brief moment of them talking, Nancy hugged him close. Mike hugged back, just as tight. Joyce had one arm around Will and the other around Eleven, and simply seemed content to be able to hold them both in her arms, alive and safe.

“So,” Robin said, rubbing her hand along Max’s back. “What are you going to do now? Are your parents coming to pick you up?”

Max froze. Billy was dead. Had anyone told them?

“No,” she said, fierce and panicked. “No, I— I can’t.”

Robin didn’t question it. “Do you have somewhere to stay?” she asked instead.

Max’s eyes drifted to Joyce. She had finally parted from Will and Eleven, who were now talking together nearby. It would be easy to ask. All it would take was a few steps. Anything to not have to deal with the look on Neil and her mom’s faces when she came home, covered in blood and without Billy by her side.

Robin seemed to make the connection in her head. “I’ll leave you to it,” she said, hopping off the stretcher. “I need to be getting home, anyways.”

Max watched her go, leaving with one of the police officers after a brief conversation. She watched until the car was out of the parking lot, and then turned back towards Joyce. She took a breath to steady herself and then eased onto the ground, holding the fire blanket tight around her shoulders as she approached.

“Ms. Byers,” Max said. The older woman turned to look at her, eyes glistening with tears, face sallow with exhaustion, but a kind smile on her lips all the same. Max suddenly felt nervous, because this was a huge favor to ask and Joyce had almost lost everything.

“What do you need?” Joyce prompted after a moment, her words soft and very careful. Max supposed it was meant to comfort her, but somehow, it only made the unease worse. The words tumbled out of her throat, sounding strangled.

“I— I need somewhere to stay tonight,” she croaked. “I can’t go home. Not yet.”

Will turned to look at her as she spoke, and so did Eleven, and that was entirely too many eyes pointed in her direction. Max shrank backwards. She shouldn’t have bothered them. She should have known better than to burden people with her shit any more than she already had. Neil and Billy had tried to warn her that she was just additional baggage and now that fear was becoming a reality.

A cold hand touched her cheek. Joyce smiled at her. It was the same smile Robin had given her— like she could see straight through her and she knew  _ everything.  _

“Of course,” Joyce said. “Of course you can stay.”

Max looked past her to Will and Eleven. Will offered her an attempt at a smile, and Eleven peered back at her with a quiet desperation that Max felt deep in the core of her being.

“Okay,” she said. “Thank you, Ms. Byers.”

“Just call me Joyce,” Joyce said. Max nodded, though her heart felt like it was two palpitations away from collapsing.

A tentative hand grabbed hers. When she looked up, it was Will.

“Come on,” Will said. “Nancy offered to drive us home. I’ll take you to the car.”

Max allowed herself to be led, Will’s hand warm around hers as they wove between people. She could hear Eleven and Joyce trailing after them, shoes scuffing across the ground in a miserable little parade. Nancy, Jonathan, and Mike were waiting for them by the station wagon.

“Are we ready to go?” Nancy asked, stepping forward.

“Yes,” Joyce said. “Thank you again for doing this.”

Nancy’s expression softened. “It’s the least I can do. Climb in.”

Joyce took the passenger seat, with Max and Eleven sitting in the middle row. Mike, Jonathan, and Will crammed themselves into the back, talking in low tones.

She stared out the window as the car pulled out of the Starcourt lot, lights passing in a blur of red and blue, the fire within the mall fading from orange to gray and then black.

Billy was dead, his body still lying there limp and bloody in the mall. She hoped they would pull him out before he burned. He may have been a prick, but he deserved a burial after everything. It wouldn’t matter if they didn’t have something to bury.

When the mall was finally out of sight, her gaze moved from the window to her lap. Her hands were laying there, fingers curled and stained black.

It was still warm.

Too warm.

Billy had been alive thirty minutes ago, and now, she was never going to see him again. She wasn't going to be able to pick any more stupid fights wit him. She was never going to get to make fun of his stupid mullet or facial hair ever again.

She was never going to know what he meant by “sorry.”

He was dead and the blood between her fingers was too warm and too wet.

There was a gentle touch at the back of her hand. Eleven watched her with a weary understanding, breathing slow and deep and saying nothing as her fingers danced across Max’s skin.

Across the blood. Billy’s blood.

“El,” Max said, voice breaking, trying to warn her— but Eleven only shook her head, lacing their fingers together.

“It’s okay,” she said, pulling Max into a hug. “It’s okay.” She’d said the same thing in Starcourt, when Max had torn herself away from Billy’s body and everything felt like it was falling apart.

Everything was still falling apart, but she was trying  _ so hard.  _

Yet, as Eleven’s arms wrapped around her shoulders, careful and warm, she couldn’t help it; the tears slipped down her cheeks, and she clutched at the other girl’s shirt, blood smearing on the downy fabric, shoulders shaking as she rode out the urge to fall apart completely.

“It’s okay,” Eleven said, and Max knew it was both a promise and a lie.

* * *

When they got to the Byers’ household, Will led her and Eleven to his room. Jonathan was going to stay with Nancy; there was a spare room, and they all  _ knew  _ that they didn’t need to cram together on a twin-sized bed, but between them there was a mutual understanding that being alone after the night’s events was no longer an option.

They didn’t even bother getting ready for bed. Joyce bid them all goodnight, and they fell onto the mattress in unison, a tangled mess of teenage limbs and exhaustion and copper-blood-smell and mourning.

(The blood had gone lukewarm and her cheek smarted with pain and in her head she could hear Robin’s voice ringing,  _ do you have somewhere to stay?) _

Will and Eleven crashed hard. Grief had sapped Eleven of everything, and the strain of being Mindflayer Radar had no doubt drained Will dry. But not Max.

For hours, she lay awake in the dark, Will’s steady exhales whistling in her ear and Eleven tucked against her collarbone, thoughts roiling in syrupy loops of anger. In the stillness and the silence, the memories were loud, demanding to be remembered.

So, she remembered. There was nothing else to do.

She remembered the way he’d raved about people of color, the way he used to drink himself into stupors and yell at her for ruining everything. She remembered coming home from school late and seeing Neil, face red with rage. She remembered that as much of a prick as Billy could be, he never let Neil lay a finger on her. How he’d taken a kid that dumped his lunch over her out to the back of the school, and after that, nobody had ever bothered her again. The bruises he used to leave on her wrist when she had the gall to fight back.

She remembered, she remembered, she remembered, and when there was nothing left to remember, she closed her eyes in the blanket of night and dreamed of his death.

In her dreams, Billy died over and over, torn to slivers by the Mind Flayer as Max bathed in his blood.

(Lukewarm. Cooling. Fresh enough to taste.)

_ “I’m sorry,”  _ Billy would say at the end of each dream, teeth stained black and skin cold.  _ “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” _

Max kicked herself awake screaming, her nose filled with the scent of copper and salt. Eleven’s arms were wrapped tightly around her and Will murmured gentle comforts against her shoulder. Max clung to them as the sobs shook her, hoping that if she held them close enough she would be able to hold herself together, too.

That was the thing about siblings— he may have been an abusive asshole, but he’d still been her brother, right up until the end.

Didn’t that count for something?

**Author's Note:**

> as someone with 3 siblings, sibling relationships can be really complicated. billy hargrove doesnt deserve redemption but like. we can all acknowledge max's feelings right


End file.
